Battlestar Hermes 3:Ascension
by The Wilky Bar Kid
Summary: 3rd in the Hermes Saga. It is the darkest time for the men and women of the Hermes. With a Commander yet to prove himself an old enemy reappears on the battlefield and is stalking the refugee Battlestar but the battles are not just fought in space.
1. Chapter 1

**AN – This story follows on from "Battlestar Hermes: Faststar"**

* * *

><p><em>A crew can fall apart when its Commander is killed…<em>

- Colonel Saul Tigh  
>(Battlestar Galactica: Razor)<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Faststar Eurylade<strong>**  
>3 Hours until the rendezvous with Hermes<strong>

She drew a line in her skin as she grazed the needle along the top of her left arm. Galit Malka knew that the serum inside the syringe was vital to her survival and yet she couldn't bring herself to injecting it into her veins. Instead she just sat there on her bunk playing with it, holding the plastic casing in her right hand as though it were a pen.

Her body was already beginning to feel the effects of not having received this life saving injection. Her vision was blurring to the point where her eyeballs began to sting and her muscles were aching bitterly. She didn't feel as flexible as she did otherwise. Instead she felt as though she was being wrapped up tightly into a blanket.

She was happy with that. It was physical pain; something she'd had plenty of experience in dealing with. Physical pain was easy to combat since her body would do all the work for her. What she was feeling now was anything but tolerable. She'd had almost no experience of what she was feeling. She couldn't even identify it. Was it guilt? Was it heartache? What are those things? Growing up in an orphanage had left Galit Malka bordering on the sociopathic.

She had often wondered what the scene was like the day she was placed onto the steps of the temple in Caprica City barely a few days old. Was it raining or was it a nice day? She had tried to picture the scene in her mind and the image that was produced was that of a woman in the middle of the night carrying her illicit child to be dropped at the temple steps. The rain would have lashed against her heartbroken face as she gave up the most precious thing in the world; her daughter. It was an overly romantic notion that angered her bitterly for even thinking it. The reality was probably very different. She, whoever her mother was, may not have even cared about the life she was throwing away to fate. Whether the keepers of the temple found the baby before she died or not may not have even crossed her mind.

Her mind went to the loss of Keene Barron. They had worked together for almost seven years and she had come to trust him with her life. The two of them had formed an effective team and the missions they carried out required their unique ability to work together. She knew he had not been the same since the Cylons attacked the Colonies, the fact that his wife Anastasia and daughter Kassandra were missing and unaccounted for had weighed heavily on him. He had tried to carry out his duties but it had become obvious he was not at his best. If his wife and daughter were in fact dead at least he could now join them in the afterlife. She honestly felt as though she had lost her right arm, that was how valuable he had been to her over the time they had worked together.

The needle finally broke the skin, the movement that thrust it into the vein was hardly delicate and blood quickly seeped out of the incision before she had even pushed the plunger down to inject the serum into her body. The pain was good. It reminded her that she could feel something other than the loss that was consuming her.

With the plunger now reaching the end of its journey along the tube and the last of the serum now rushing into her body she threw the empty needle across the room cursing its necessity as it was still airborne. The effect of the drug was quick. Her eyes become unreliable as the blurriness of her vision was reduced to just spots of colour all intermixing not unlike what happens to a paintbrush when placed into a glass of clear water. Her skin began to sparkle in the dim light from perspiration as her temperature soared. She fell onto the pillow at the top of her bunk her body no longer able to hold her up. The serum was powerful and brutal but it was the only thing, so the Ministry of Intelligence medical staff had told her, that could combat her injuries sustained when she was caught up in the bombing of a terrorist base she had infiltrated some six years earlier.

It was on that mission, the one that changed her life beyond recognition, where she met Artimus Bowman. Bowman was unlike any other man she had ever met. He was a tormented soul when she met him. Like herself he was a deeply mistrusting of everyone preferring to keep people at a distance. She liked to think their brief time together changed all that for afterwards he seemed to have thawed his cold exterior, something she was denied.

Now it was she who was the one who was hurt. She had lost the only person she had ever become close to. Her body was now squirming and writhing from the effects of the injection as it took control of her body. It would take a full hour before the effects wore off. Until then she was a prisoner inside her own body.

* * *

><p><strong>Battlestar Hermes BS-58<br>Hidden inside the SC-287 Dust Cloud aka 'Big Red'**

The Jupiter-class Battlestar Hermes sat hidden in between the dense strands of dust that intertwined inside the cloud known as 'Big Red' due to its bright red colour. Still tucked inside the Port Hangar Pod taking up half the Landing Deck was the Colonial Heavy Liner Alexis, another survivor of the Cylon attack retrieved by the crew of the Hermes after its passengers and crew had been killed by a Cylon agent who was hiding onboard. The battle scarred hull of Hermes had been stained heavily from the dust clouds and even after almost three days since it arrived, Extra Vehicular Activity (or EVA) crews were still cleaning it to prevent it from clogging the maneuvering thrusters and just as importantly the gun barrels.

The cloud had been formed centuries ago as the result of a series of cataclysmic collisions of planetary bodies. Like a galactic-sized game of Pyramid planets and stars collided into one another creating the immense cloud that could be viewed from Caprica's northern hemisphere as a small red star. The cloud was an ideal hiding place for the Hermes since the materials that the dust was composed of deflected all but the closest DRADIS scans.

As far as the universe was concerned the Hermes had vanished.

* * *

><p><strong>Battlestar Hermes<br>Caleb Dytto's Quarters**

Colonel Caleb Dytto didn't recognize the face that was staring back at him in the mirror anymore. As he stood there with the shaving razor in his hand he felt like he was looking at the portrait of someone else. A familiar person, yes, but not himself. He scratched the right side of his face watching the reflection as it mimicked him as if only to make sure it was indeed his own image.

His face was slightly reddened from shaving, a combination of using an old Caprimart disposable razor that was now quickly turning blunt and the lack of water to use on his skin. Water was more precious to the people on Hermes than a billion cubits. There simply wasn't enough to spare for adequate washing it being more important for drinking. Hermes did have a limited water recycling capability but not enough to sustain five thousand people indefinitely.

Having grown tired with the man in the mirror he turned away from him and walked over to his bunk where his duty jacket was strewn across. He picked it up and reached his arms inside it before slithering the rest of his upper torso into place. Having buttoned up the jacket he had another sense of identity. When he wore this uniform, that of a Colonel in the Colonial Fleet, he knew who he was. It seemed he needed his rank and his position to feel whole. With this 'label' now firmly attached to him he took in a deep breath to clear his lungs before stepping outside the hatch.

He made his way to CIC, the brain of Hermes, passing numerous work teams as he went. The crew and civilians of the Battlestar Hermes were taking full advantage of this lull in combat that hiding in the cloud offered to repair the damaged ship. Hermes was still powerful and had proven she could continue to fight with the best of them but she was hurt. Her hull was burned, broken, twisted and penetrated in many places and without adequate repair facilities it had been decided that to prevent any further internal damage from a missile hit the sections of the ship near the hull breaches were to be completely sealed up with internal blast doors being welded permanently shut. This wouldn't offer any protection against a missile hit but it was enough to prevent an accidental decompression which could be just as devastating.

If that wasn't enough to convince those aboard the refugee warship that Hermes was no longer just a Battlestar then the final evidence was on the Port Hangar Deck. It was not a Hangar Deck anymore. The Viper launch tubes were being sealed shut and their launchers being torn up and taken over to the Starboard Hangar Deck for spares. In fact all the equipment was being consolidated onto the Starboard Hangar Deck for the Port side was now being turned into additional living quarters for the civilians aboard Hermes.

For over a month and a half the three thousand civilians who had come aboard Hermes from the Scylla fleet they had encountered after the crew of the Pegasus had ransacked them had lived in the Marine Barrack Section of the ship, Hermes having a secondary troop transport role. This section was designed for no more than fifteen hundred Marines, half the population who now called it home. Realizing the air wing had now dwindled down to the point where only one operational Hangar Deck was sufficient Commander Bowman ordered that the port side be made into appropriate living conditions for half the civilian population to ease the congestion in 'The Slum'.

It had not been an entirely popular decision with Chief Imlay's deck gang whose pride was hurt having to demolish the very equipment and facilities that made Hermes a Battlestar but it had to be done.

Caleb Dytto stepped into the Combat Information Centre or CIC, the metaphorical brain of the Battlestar. The order that once existed in the command centre was gone as repairs were conducted even here. It seemed there was hardly anywhere aboard the Hermes where work wasn't needed to be done. Wires and cables were strewn out across the floor as computer consoles were being repaired or even rebuilt using parts salvaged from any system that was beyond repair but had useable parts left over.

Captain Chloe Burmeister manned the Tactical Station which had been one of the first systems to receive attention due to its importance. One of the systems she was responsible for was the DRADIS array. Her detection range was incredibly limited due to the dust cloud, the very thing they were hoping for. That's the price you pay for a good hiding place. The DRADIS did display three objects floating alongside the Battlestar however.

The Hermes had maintained a CAP ever since arriving in the cloud because of the threat of surprise attack by Cylon 'Bloodsuckers'; two or more Raiders who spend days flying around looking for targets to weaken before calling on the main force to attack the target. It had been a tactic the crew of Hermes had become quite familiar with. The CAP comprised of two Vipers and a single Raptor for electronic support.

Dytto stumbled rather unceremoniously over some loose wiring as he walked upto the operations desk that sat in the middle of the large room grunting in frustration at the young technician who was responsible for it. He reached the operations desk to find it strewn out with tools, broken pieces of computer equipment and the subsequent loose wiring that hung out of it.

"Can we try and get some frakking order in here please?" he growled to everyone in the CIC which caused them to stop working only for a brief moment. "This is still the CIC."

Having now noticed that Dytto had arrived, Burmeister handed her station over to the Petty Officer who was manning the number 2 station besides hers and made her way towards the XO navigating the minefield of people and equipment as she went.

"Good morning XO," she greeted rather dryly.

"Morning Captain," he replied. The two of them had still not fully repaired their once close relationship. Dytto was a friend of the Burmeister family and until Chloe joined the Colonial Fleet he had been a kind of uncle to her. All that changed however when he discovered she had violated Gemonese tradition and fell pregnant outside of wedlock. He couldn't forgive her for this sin no matter how much he wanted to bring himself to and he knew that when she started showing this pregnancy, things would get even worse. He therefore closed himself off to her. "What have we got today?"

"Just the usual repair work reports. Engine room is still reporting fluctuations in the number 2 FTL coil."

"What?" gasped Dytto. "They should have had that fixed two days ago."

"Yes sir."

"Perhaps I should go down there and give them the royal boot-in-the-ass treatment."

"I don't believe it can be helped sir," protested Burmeister as carefully as she could muster.

"Yes…well. Anything else?"

"Another false alarm about an hour ago but it came to nothing. The CAP detected a slight Gamma radiation spike in the cloud but it was found to be natural phenomena emanating from the star."

"That's the sixth time now," said Dytto in a manner that hinted he placed a high importance on this recurring issue.

"It's little more than a nuisance to our pilots, sir. It's just background radiation."

"Or it could be a Cylon fleet moving into position around us. The point is that we don't know."

Burmeister couldn't help but feel that Dytto's unease was aimed at her. She had been the one to suggest hiding in the dust cloud while he had recommended hiding out in the depths of space. In his mind the dust cloud was an obvious hiding spot and the limiting effect it had on DRADIS left them open to attack. Bowman, however, felt the same as Burmeister and was overruled. Now he was stuck with it.

"I guess so, sir," she said rather diplomatically.

"DRADIS contact!" bellowed the Petty Officer manning Burmeister's station. "Object bearing one-one-six carom two-niner."

Burmeister rushed back to man her station. The Petty Officer quickly got out of the way as the more experienced Captain crashed into the seat in front of the console to analyze the object they were detecting.

"Another false alarm?" asked Dytto hoping that was the case.

"Negative sir, single contact CBDR. I don't recognize the silhouette. Recommend set condition one."

"Very well," said Dytto before turning to Petty Officer Durand manning the communications station on the opposite side of the Operations Desk. "Set condition one throughout the ship. Have the CAP intercept the object."

"Yes sir," replied Durand.

"Have gun crews acquire the target when ready," added Dytto to Burmeister as a klaxon began wailing throughout the Battlestar.

* * *

><p>The forward guns of the Battlestar Hermes began to swing outwards in the direction of the approaching object that was maintaining its fixed course towards the Hermes. Flying over the dorsal hull of the Battlestar the two Vipers and single Raptor that formed the CAP throttled up, their engines glowing in response.<p>

Flying the lead Viper was 'Griffon' the Hermes' CAG. On his number two was 'Slammer', a pilot who had earned his callsign through notoriously hard landings over the course of his career.

In the Raptor, 'Stinger' peered through the transparent canopy at the Vipers ahead of him. In all honesty both he and his ECO, 'Aurora', had become almost complacent during the course of this particular patrol around the Hermes. The cloud caused no end of false alarms for them to the point where they stopped having that rush of adrenalin whenever the sensors aboard the little electronic warfare vessel triggered an alarm. Now they were paying for it. The shock of having an actual contact appear on the DRADIS sent their minds into a blur as they tried to refocus their efforts. It did not take them long. The natural flight-or-fight instinct took care of that.

"It's a single contact," said 'Aurora' analyzing the image that appeared on her screen infront of her. She began a full energy DRADIS scan of the object. In the electronic warfare world this was the equivalent of shining a powerful searchlight down onto a darkened object. The contact's own sensors would detect that the Raptor was doing this but since both Hermes and the contact had a clear line-of-sight to one another there was no need to try and disguise the scans.

The image on her screen increased in clarity as the silhouette's edges became sharper and more defined but this didn't help in identifying the vessel. It was many times smaller than a Baseship but by the same token it was several times larger than a Heavy Raider.

"What does it look like?" asked 'Stinger'. "Is it the Eurylade?"

"I-I'm not sure," said 'Aurora'. "It's a little bigger and the shape isn't quite right."

"Do a radiological scan. Let's see what they're packing."

"Ok," said 'Aurora' as she accessed the Raptor's radiometer. On her screen a red beam passed over the silhouette of the object. Once the beam had passed over the length of it the words BACKGROUND ONLY flashed in red on the screen. "I'm not detecting any nukes and the only radiation I'm detecting is from the main engine room but that's normal."

"Any energy spikes?"

"Nothing that would indicate any weaponry being activated. It's just flying towards us." Suddenly the infra-red scanner went completely white. "IR burst!" gasped 'Aurora'. She checked her sensors and saw that the object was beginning to slow down. The IR burst she had detected was actually the forward thrusters of the object slowing it down. "It's stopping."

Suddenly the wireless crackled into life as the Raptor received a transmission. A woman's voice uttered into their headsets, "I'm going to need a ride."

The Raptor and the Vipers came within visual range of the object they were detecting on their DRADIS. As the red light emanating from the cloud illuminated their target they could see the rather confusing outline of the Faststar Eurylade covered in old Vipers that appeared to have been scabbed onto the hull of the vessel hence the confusing DRADIS returns. These Vipers, comprising Mark IIIs and IVs had been salvaged from the SS-217 space station during the Eurylade's effort to deploy the mobile fortress back to the colonies to fight the Cylon occupational army. That effort had failed and resulted in the death of Commander Artimus Bowman; something the crew of the Hermes was yet to discover.

* * *

><p><strong>An Hour Later<strong>

'Aurora' looked over her shoulder only briefly at the passenger in their Raptor that they were taking back to Hermes. She sat on the foldout cargo net bench that was positioned just behind 'Stinger'. She looked at the woman who seemed to be staring blankly ahead as if looking for an object a thousand yards away. Chief Imlay sat beside her and looked equally blank.

'Aurora' had heard about this woman but had never actually met her yet. All she knew was that her name was Galit Malka, that she was a Major in the Ministry of Intelligence and that she commanded the Eurylade. Beyond that she was something of an enigma to 'Aurora' and indeed most of the crew of Hermes.

Malka felt 'Aurora's eyes on her. She glanced up at the ECO who quickly returned to her monitors as she realized she was now in the MoI officer's sights.

For her part, Malka thought about how the crew of Hermes was going to react to her now that Bowman was gone. Would they trust her as much as she believed he did? She knew she had a lot of work ahead of her but she embraced it wholeheartedly. She had no choice in the matter. She owed it to Artimus Bowman.

* * *

><p><strong>Battlestar Hermes<br>Wardroom**

News of Bowman's death had reached Hermes before the skids on the Raptor carrying Galit Malka reached the magnetic deck of Hermes' one working landing deck.

Caleb Dytto stared at Galit Malka as she walked into the Boardroom. As it had always done, the immense portrait that dominated the far wall of the room depicting Hermes, the patron God of the Battlestar looked down upon the event that was about to unfold. Malka closed the hatch behind her before turning to face the new Commander of Hermes. This was one of those rare moments in her life where she had no idea how she was going to proceed. Instead she just stood there waiting for Dytto to speak.

"Is it true?" he asked her. Dytto had already heard the news from Chief Imlay who had gone on the mission with Bowman but he wanted to hear it from her.

"Yes," she replied. "Bowman is dead."

"How?" he snarled.

"Our mission was a failure. The FTL drive installed into the mobile fortress malfunctioned. He was vaporized in the control room along with my executive officer, Keene Barron."

"Your mission was to retrieve weapons and supplies to be used for Hermes' defence and our continued survival," said Dytto who was unaware of the true nature of the mission the Faststar Eurylade had undertaken. Indeed, not even Bowman was totally aware of it until just before they arrived at the station.

"That was only part of our mission," she explained. "The other part was to activate the mobile fortress and send it back to the colonies to fight the Cylons. To do that the fortress was equipped with its own second generation versions of the original Cylon Centurions built by Graystone Industries."

"What the frak!" gasped Dytto. "Did Bowman know about this before he left with you?"

"No. I didn't believe he would have continued with the mission unless everything remained speculative."

"Are you certain he's dead?" he asked disbelievingly.

"I already told you," she said to him. "He was vaporized. There was nothing left."

Dytto's eyes suddenly shot daggers at her. "How convenient. No body."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I only have your word to go on that he was killed in an accident. How do I know you didn't put a bullet in his skull. For all I know he wanted to end that mission and you didn't like that."

"I lost two of my own on this mission as well," she protested calmly.

By contrast Dytto was now becoming overwhelmed with his emotions. His chest was rising and falling faster and faster as his breathing quickened along with his heart rate. His eyes were transfixed on her as if he were a sniper staring through his scope at his target.

"Maybe they disagreed with you as well?" he suggested in an almost desperate bid to find the explanation he was looking for. "Or perhaps Bowman killed them first. That son-of-a-bitch was tougher than he looked."

"Paranoia, when used properly, can be a useful tool for a Battlestar Commander," she said before adding, "It keeps you alert to what's going on around you and helps you identify threats more easily however be warned; if it consumes you it will always lead to one place - your self destruction."

"Is that a threat?" barked Dytto bringing his shoulders to full height.

"No," she uttered almost in a whisper. "I'm trying to give the _current _Commander of the Battlestar Hermes some advice."

"Advice huh? I don't need any from you. Neither did Bowman. He never trusted you from the moment you showed up. Do you know what one of the last things he ever said to me was? He told me to question everything you say because I think that deep down he knew he wasn't coming back from this mission. He knew you would lead him to his end and he was right."

Malka took a single angry step forwards toward Dytto, something that caught him momentarily off guard.

"If you think I wanted this to happen," she declared, "you are very much mistaken. You are talking about someone I was closer to than anyone else in my life. If I could turn back the hands of time I would be the one to have died on that station. He loved this ship and he loved it's crew, even you, and I have sworn that I will do everything I can to protect this ship and the people onboard as part of my debt to Artimus Bowman. I declared it to him and all my Gods and I meant it."

"You won't get your chance," said Dytto through gritted teeth. "As I am now the most senior ranking officer aboard Hermes I am ordering you and your team to disembark aboard the Eurylade. Now that your FTL is fully functional you can go your own way."

"Aren't you being premature?" she asked. "You could certainly use my people and the Faststar."

"I don't think so," said Dytto resolutely. "We did well enough before you showed up. We can do it again."

"Yes but then Hermes was under Bowman's command not yours," protested Galit. "I am offering you the hand of friendship and cooperation. I offer it to you in respect for the memory of my former friend and your former Commander." She held out her hand for him to take. "But remember this, Dytto; I meant what I said about my pledge to Bowman and I will only offer my hand once. Will you accept it?"

Dytto looked down at the outstretched hand before him. He walked around the table and upto her all the while pondering on whether or not to take it. If he was honest he momentarily considered taking it but it was only for a moment.

"You have until 1800 hours today to get off _my_ ship," he said resolutely. "Seven hours, that should be enough time to unload all the Vipers as you promised you would deliver. That should satisfy your debt to Bowman. After that if you're not gone I will throw you off myself do you understand?"

"You're a fool, Dytto," said Malka. Dytto wasn't impressed.

"You Ministry of Intelligence types are all alike; you work in the shadows and will do whatever you please as long as it accomplishes your mission. How many innocent people have you killed in your line of work?"

Malka's mind went to work on recalling the missions she had been on and the people whose lives she had taken, "That's not relevant."

"To you it's not, but I know you have blood on your hands. Did you pull the trigger yourself when it was time to kill Commander Bowman?"

"At this point in time we are all we have; you'd be foolish to throw away a chance to have extra help in light of all that's happened. I have to wonder if Artimus realized you would go this route when he left you in command. He should have left you to rot in your quarters when he relieved of duty, yes I know about that, but he was one of those people who could see the best in anyone. It was one of his more questionable traits, especially in this situation."

"Get out!" he spat.

As she turned away from him, Dytto felt as though she had to tear her eyes away from him, her stare was so intense. She reached for the handle on the hatch but as her fingers slithered around the handle she turned her head over her shoulders and looked back at him one more time her eyes grabbing hold of him once more. She could see his fear. He feared her but above all he feared command.

"You'll see me again, Dytto," she warned. "I never go back on my word."

She opened the hatch and walked out leaving Caleb Dytto, the new Commander of the Battlestar Hermes, feeling like a bull's eye had just been painted over his chest. The frustration inside him grew and he slammed his fist down onto the large oak desk. His hand throbbed from the pain and he quickly recoiled it before cradling the now hurting hand. He felt the pressure building up once more, the momentary release the pain offered having quickly subsided, and he was soon feeling himself tremble once more as the pressure reached its limit.

"I am the Commander," he uttered reassuringly to himself. "This is my command now. I deserve this. I always have. Bowman!"

Dytto's heart raced in his chest. For a second he thought he saw the figure of a man standing in the corner of the room watching him. His mind tried to identify it and it came up with the image of the deceased Artimus Bowman. Or was it simply a trick of the light. He couldn't be sure but it was enough for him to decide to leave the room.

The portrait of Hermes looked down upon Dytto as he walked out of the room. The eyes of the portrait seemed to be casting judgement upon him. The messenger of Zeus, the God of flight and mischief was yet to decide whether Dytto was worthy or not. The next few days were to be his trial.

* * *

><p><strong>Cylon Occupied Gemenon<strong>

The vast wastelands of Gemenon were always a desolate place even at the very height of the colony's influence and power. The land is extreme with high rising jagged peaks lining the almost totally uneven landscape that sat high above sea level. As extreme as the land here was the weather. An hospitable climate could suddenly turn to several inches of snow in just a few days.

Now, with the holocaust of man the plains were even more devoid of life as radiated dust particles from the bombed out cities made their way into the mountains being carried on the prevailing wind. Dead animals were a frequent site here and those that did survive were sick and slowly dying. It was therefore a particularly odd thing now to hear an engine trundling its way through the dust covered terrain. The large pick-up truck, once blue in colour, was now tinted red and brown from layers of dust that had accumulated onto its bodywork.

Alonso Darcia gripped the steering wheel of the pick-up the trailer of which was overloaded with supplies being tethered down by several different coloured ropes. His hands gripped the rubber of the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure of the grip as he maneuvered the vehicle at high speed up the dirt track. He knew his pursuers were not far behind him and they knew the area better than he did.

Sitting beside Alonso was Charlotte Darcia, his sixteen year old daughter and only surviving relative his wife and youngest son having died from radiation sickness shortly after the bombing had stopped. They were fortunate enough to receive anti-radiation medications before they too succumb to the invisible death that roamed the planet freely.

"I think we lost them," he said to her as he continually checked the rear view mirror. "Can you see them?"

"No," replied the frightened girl looking over her shoulder through a gap in the supplies that filled the flat bed.

"We must have really pissed them off this time. When we get back to the others we'd better tell them to prepare for reprisals."

"_If _we get back," she uttered with an air of hopelessness.

"If the One-True-God has blessed us to survive this nightmare so far then I am sure he intends for us to go on living and we must do so, Charlotte, to honor your mother and your brother."

"I know."

"I miss them too, Charlotte," he said momentarily taking his eyes off the dirt track to look at her.

"Why has he let this happen to us?" she asked him, a single tear running down her dirt stained cheek leaving a clean line behind it as it went.

"Who?" asked Alonso almost absent mindedly.

"God, the One-True-God, why has he let this happen to us, to mama and Joachim. Does he hate us?"

"Stop talking like that!" barked Alonso angrily. "It's too easy to blame God. Blame our enemies here in this life. They have done this to us. Not God!"

"But if God is all powerful why didn't he stop this from happening? Why doesn't he deliver us?"

"It's not our place to know God's thinking. We could never hope to understand it. That's why he is God!" Alonso's voice was growing in anger, a result of running for his life coupled with his daughter's questioning of their monotheistic faith. His daughter's face looked as though she had been thrashed by her father. His angry words hurt as much as any physical reprimand could. Alonso's faith was unquestionable and it upset him to hear his daughter doubting his God. Nevertheless he was a father first and foremost and he felt compassion towards his daughter who seemed to be recoiling away from him. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok," she whimpered.

"No it's not ok. You have a questioning nature. You get that from your mother and she got it from God. It's something to cherish. It's a part of her you take with you everywhere. It's one of the reasons why I loved her and why I love you-"

There was a sudden a loud popping sounding that overwhelmed her ears. She felt herself tumbling, being thrown from side to side in the cabin of the truck as it rolled over again and again. As suddenly as it began it stopped. Her confused senses took a moment to recover and she found she was no longer in the truck. As it had tumbled she had fallen from the cabin as the door broke free and fell off. There was a searing pain on the right hand side of her forehead and she could feel a warm trickling sensation down the front of her face.

Soon it went dark as her eyes refused to stay open any longer. She felt herself slipping away slowly as her mind seemed to stop processing information. It was as if all her senses were shutting down and she didn't know if she would ever wake up again. She would not have been aware of the figure that was now standing over her looking down at her.

The figure, that of another human being wrapped up tightly in extensive layers of clothing in a make-shift effort to protect him from exposing his skin to the radioactive dust particles in the air, kicked her harshly in the shoulder looking for a response. When there wasn't one the man knelt down beside her and reached with his right hand to check the side of her neck for a pulse.

"Shiro!" called out one of the man's compatriots who were running over to him carrying the Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG) launcher they had used to ambush Alonso and Charlotte's pick-up truck. There were four of them in total. Two had run to the wrecked pick-up truck that still contained Alonso's dead body clutching the steering wheel. The right hand side wheel was gone and the engine was now nothing more than a charred piece of metal that was smoking from the impact of the grenade. The block of the engine had largely absorbed the shrapnel of the grenade detonation. It was the tumbling of the truck that had killed Alonso. His head impacted heavily against the steering wheel splitting it open at the front.

The two ambushers who had run for the truck began scrambling to gather up the supplies that broken free but the man with the RPG launcher rushed to Shiro's side. "Shiro, is she dead?"

"No," replied Shiro getting back to his feet. "She's still alive."

"Well?" asked the second man who was covered up as tightly as Shiro. "What are you waiting for? Let's waist the moneth bitch and get back what's ours."

"No," said Shiro. "Not just yet."

"We aint got time for that," protested the second man who thought that his fellow comrade-in-arms would want to rape their barely alive victim, something that was quite commonplace in these mountain ranges even before the Cylons attacked the Twelve Colonies. "The Toasters aren't that far away. If they find us it'll be death for us all. I'm not ready for my journey yet."

"She could be useful," explained Shiro. "If she lives she could tell us how many Moneths are hiding in the hills, maybe even where their Holy _frakking _Mother is hiding now her church has been burned by the Toasters. Thank Apollo for small favors. You want to kill the Moneths don't you Hikaru? You remember all that we went through before the Cylons came, how we suffered fighting for our beliefs. It was a war of survival which has now become more desperate than it ever was before. We can't afford the luxury of letting these bastards live any longer so that we may preserve our own children and our religion and continue the fight against the Toasters. Don't you agree?"

"So say we all," replied Hikaru in agreement.

"Help me with her."


	2. Chapter 2

**Battlestar Hermes**  
><strong>Pilot's Locker Room<strong>

The air in the tightly packed locker room was now always thick with the stench of sweat and very often blood. Where once this was a place where the pilots of the Hermes' air wing would come to keep their things as they showered after a flight to keep themselves clean there was no longer such a luxury aboard the refugee warship. There wasn't the water to spare. At some point the pilots stopped noiticing their own stench. You can become used to almost anything after a while it's simply a case of accepting the hand that you've been dealt. Nevertheless there were those who still maintained the notion that an officer should always look his best.

Lieutenant Roe 'Spike' Sharpe was one such officer. Accustomed to keeping a short cut hairstyle and cleanly shaven face 'Spike' now found himself getting up everyday and trimming his facial hair with a pair of small scissors he had bought from the CAG who had retrieved it from a fallen comrade's locker. It was a long held tradition aboard Battlestars to sell off the possessions of those pilots who have been killed both as a way of saying good bye and as a way of ensuring supplies were not wasted. 'Spike' had paid for this nearly-new set of styling scissors with an old copy of a Tauron women-themed pornographic magazine. The magazine went into the CAG's vault to be sold off later by anyone who wanted to trade for it. Thus the economy of a Battlestar at war was created.

Looking into the mirror on the inside of his locker he carefully picked out the most offensive hairs from his face and decapitated them with the still sharp scissors. It was a long and frustrating task that he carried out every morning in an effort to keep the rapidly growing hair under control in order to resemble something vaguely decent. Curving his lips inwards he could feel the lower end of the moustache that was appearing above just below his nose touching top of his chin and so he carefully began to cut it down to size with three quick but decisive snips.

It was as he was cutting the very last snippet of hair that he felt a large hand bang against his right shoulder almost causing him to cut off more than he intended.

"Damn it 'Slammer'!" barked 'Spike'. "I almost took my frakking nose off!"

'Slammer', a pilot aboard Hermes who had earned his name from his rather heavy landing style, didn't seem at all bothered by his friend and comrade's annoyed glare.

"Have you seen what's down on the Hangar Deck?" asked 'Slammer' with a tone that did not seem impressed regarding the news he had.

"Which one?"

"Well not the one that's being turned into a luxury apartment block complete with on-suite bathroom and two hundred and seventy three TV channels. The other one. The one that still vaguely looks like a Hangar Deck although now it's starting to resemble a museum. They're unloading those relics the Ministry of Intelligence had stashed away on that space station and now they expect us to fly 'em. I say let those MoI toasters fly those crates. Let them be the cannon fodder."

"Would you fly alongside them?" asked 'Spike'.

"What?" asked 'Slammer' incredulously.

"Would you fly alongside them on a mission against the Cylons? Suppose the Toasters attack and Dytto, our _fearless leader_, told us we had to launch alongside those Cylons the MoI built; would you do it?"

"No frakking way! I'd be too scared I'd get a bullet in the back. My tenth grade history teacher was right. We never seem to learn from the past."

"All of this has happened before," quoted 'Spike' playfully.

"And it's happening again."

'Spike' admired his work in the mirror before returning the scissors to the case they had come in and placed it back in his locker. The locker door closed with a loud slamming sound before he sealed down the padlock.

"Well let's go take a look," he said walking passed 'Slammer' who began to follow him even though had already seen the new arrivals delivered by the Eurylade.

* * *

><p><strong>Hangar Deck<strong>

They were indeed an unusual sight. The sleek yet tired looking Viper Mark VIIs that had worked so hard to defend the Hermes seemed somehow older than the previous two models of Viper that were now being lined up on the flightline alongside them. The VIIs showed signs of heavy fighting with the tips of their gun barrels having been scorched black from firing countless rounds. The Deck Gang had gone to the effort of painting kill markings on several of them in the first few days of combat that followed the bombing of the colonies but somewhere along the line they stopped caring about keeping count. A lot of the VIIs were stained with a pinkish coloured liquid that came from dead Raiders that had splashed across their hulls during the frenzy of combat and proved very difficult to completely wash off. The VIIs were the veterans of this war and appeared to look on at the Mark IIIs and IVs as the FNGs (Frakking New Guys) who were yet to earn their respect.

The Viper Mark III was a heavily upgraded version of the ubiquitous Mark II itself developed from the Viper Mark I. Its forward fuselage heavily resembled the Mark II except it was a little wider near the centre. The engine nacelles were larger than on the Mark II and were marginally more powerful to help negate the First Cylon War-era Raider's superior climb rate near a large gravitational field like those encountered when fighting within a planet's atmosphere. The most obvious difference the Mark III held over the II and indeed all other Vipers since were the forward swept wings that were arranged in the traditional tri-wing layout. This arrangement was not followed in later models since the advantages were negligible over the traditional rearward sweeping wing layout. The Mark III, like its two wartime predecessors, was an extremely tough and durable design easily maintained in the most primitive conditions.

By contrast the Mark IV was a child of peacetime. It appeared that when the engineers were designing it a lot of the lessons learned from the war about ruggedness were lost. It was a more streamlined design that afforded it greater maneuverability in an atmosphere without sacrificing performance in a vacuum where most of the fighting took place. It needed more specific equipment to maintain it but fortunately for Chief Imlay and his knuckledraggers the same equipment was used for the Viper Mark VII. The lineage that existed between the IV and the VII was immediately obvious when the two were placed side by side.

'Slammer' and 'Spike' stepped out onto the walkway that looked down onto the Hangar Deck. They were greeted by a view that resembled a farm of Ants busily going about their duties as members of the colony. The Deck Gang were busily marshalling the new arrivals across the Hangar Deck from the Deck Lift that carried them down from the Landing Deck above them.

"Can you believe this?" asked 'Slammer' as the two of them leaned forwards with their elbows resting on the hand railing.

"They look like they can do the job at least," said 'Spike' who was admiring a Mark IV as it was marshaled passed them.

"Never figured you for being an optimist," said 'Slammer'.

"Well the main differences between all the Viper Marks from one to seven only really become apparent when fighting in an atmosphere. We fight mostly in space and there they're all pretty much the same. They got it right with the Mark I and as the old saying goes; if it aint broke don't fix it. As for the weapon systems the Mark III is basic but effective. It was designed specifically for fighting Cylons."

"That was very informative, _professor_," joked 'Slammer'.

"I prefer the title of connoisseur. Also I prepared a paper on it at the Academy entitled 'Evolution of the Viper Design'."

"Well if you're so confident why don't you volunteer your connoisseur-ass to fly the first CAP in one of those buckets?"

"I might just do that," uttered 'Spike' under his breath as the Deck Lift began to descend with the next Viper. 'Slammer' and 'Spike' watched as the Mark III sat patiently waiting for the Deck Lift to stop. It was as it passed their height level on the walkway that the two of them glared into the cockpit to place their eyes on the Ministry of Intelligence Centurion pilot who had flown it to Hermes. "Man they're ugly."

"It's one big frakking mistake bringing those things onboard. Aren't there enough Toasters in the universe?"

The Deck Lift came to a stop and the yellow painted Viper tractor was driven upto it by one of the Deck Gang. The tractor was a small vehicle just big enough for one person to ride on it but its small size disguised the sheer strength of its engine. The tractor stopped just ahead of the nose skid of the Mark III before the driver jumped out and hooked up a tow bar to the main frame of the skid. Once he was satisfied it was in place he jumped back on the tractor and began to tow the Viper off the Deck Lift. Vipers and Raptors are designed to be manhandled across the deck but its slow and time consuming process involving at least seven people for a Viper and nine for a Raptor. The tractor could speed up this process which is something that is essential under combat conditions.

Once the Viper was clear of the Deck Lift it was already beginning to rise back up to collect the last few Vipers waiting on the Landing Deck. It seemed that at some point every eye stared at the Centurion pilot as it sat motionless in the cockpit of the Viper as it was towed down the Hangar Deck.

"I can't believe what I'm looking at," repeated 'Slammer' twice to reinforce his opinion. "Why would the MoI build more Centurions during the Cylon War?"

"I suppose they wanted to build them to fight the Cylons who had risen up against us."

"And I suppose we'd have to build more again when those ones rose up and so on and so forth."

"At least there's not that many of them," said 'Spike' noting the few who had been used to ferry the Vipers.

"Yeah but I heard from one of the Knuckledraggers that Chief Imlay said there were thousands of them back at that space station where they got these old birds from. There's also a rumor going around that it was one of those things that killed Bowman and the Chief is covering for that Malka."

"That's bullshit!" protested 'Spike'. "The Chief and Bowman went way back all the way to the Valkyrie. He'd never betray Bowman. And why would he cover for Malka?"

"Maybe he's frakking her," said 'Slammer' picking-at-straws.

"The Chief's got a wife and kid."

"Yeah and if they're not dead from the bombing already then they're glowing in the dark from the radiation. The truth is the people on this ship aren't the same people they were a month and a half ago. Who knows how some of them changed? I mean you heard about that Marine that got stabbed in the neck in 'The Slum'. He got stabbed because he was trying to rape that poor girl who killed him and unless our luck changes soon things on this ship are going to get a whole lot worse."

"Good morning gents," said a voice from along the walkway. The two pilots looked to the right to see Major Alex 'Griffon' Adonia, the Hermes CAG walking towards them.

"Morning Major," said 'Spike'.

"Morning," added 'Slammer'.

'Griffon' walked up to them and stood to the right of 'Slammer' before he too began to lean against the handrail to look down upon the busy Hangar Deck.

"You two seem in deep thought," noted 'Griffon'.

"Just talking about volunteers for those old crates," quipped 'Slammer'. "It seems _Spikey_ here is keen to give it a go."

"Is that so?" said 'Griffon'. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Sir?" asked 'Spike'. "What is happening with those Centurions the Eurylade brought back?"

"I just spoke to Dytto about that actually. He's going to toss them out with the garbage_. No frakking Toasters on my ship!_"

"Good," uttered 'Slammer'. "It creeps me the frak out having them onboard."

"Seems he's also throwing the Eurylade off," added 'Spike'.

"Yes he is," uttered 'Griffon'.

"He sure that's the right thing to do. I'm sure we could find uses for a Faststar."

"No doubt," replied 'Griffon'. "But Dytto doesn't want Malka or any of her people onboard and the best way to get rid of them is to ship them out but don't worry yourself about any of that now. Back to the topic at hand. I've had the techies reprogramming our simulator to be able to replicate the Mark III and IV. Get some ground training in before we take them out. Every pilot will fly at least one affiliation flight including Raptor pilots. Who knows when we might need to get every one of those old birds off the deck and into the fight?"

"Yes sir," said 'Slammer' and 'Spike' in unison as 'Griffon' began to walk away.

* * *

><p><strong>Cylon Occupied Gemenon<strong>

Charlotte Darcia's eyes began to slowly wedge open as she felt a hand press on her forehead brushing away strands of hair from her eyes. She sat unmoving on the ground feeling a rough but flat surface beneath her as she lay on her side.

"Try not to move too much," said a voice in Caprican which was like most Gemonese her second language, its tone being kind and considerate. "You look like you've been through a lot. Just take it easy."

"Where?" asked Charlotte before she winced from a pain in her chest. "Where am I?"

"That's something I'd like to know as well. The truth is I'm not sure myself. Whoever is keeping us here is being very tight lipped."

Charlotte's eyes were now finally beginning to focus on the face looking down at her. He was much older than she was and his eyes had an almost fatherly ambience to them despite his face being dirty and his bushy brown hair looking distinctly unkempt. He was adorned in black clothes with a cotton jersey and a pair of black utility trousers covered in buttoned up pockets.

She began to try to turn over but every movement was painful. She was only halfway onto her back when a sharp searing pain shot through her chest once more and she fell the rest of the way.

Charlotte shrieked. "What's wrong with me? It hurts!"

"I told you to keep still," said the man rushing to help her get into a more comfortable position. "I'm no doctor or medic but I think you've broken a rib or two. You've also had a nasty bump on the back of the head. You look like you've been in a hell of a car wreck."

Suddenly the memory of the ambush came flooding back to her. "Dad! My father! Where's my father?" she asked almost panic stricken. "Is he here?"

"I'm sorry," said the man pushing down on her shoulders gently restraining her so she wouldn't antagonize her injuries. "I'm sorry but you were the only one they brought in here. That was about six hours ago. You've been asleep since then."

As she lay there, Charlotte's eyes looked around the room. It was a small room whose walls were covered with broken plaster that revealed the grey rectangular bricks beneath it. There was no furniture in the room although she could see a bundle of blankets in the corner arranged in a fashion that implied it was to be used as a bed. In the opposite corner of the room there was a bucket. She didn't like to think what that was intended for. There were windows in the room but they had been heavily boarded up with wooden planks against the window frame with only small gaps in between them to allow just a little bit of light inside.

"What is this place?" she asked him.

The man, who was obviously a prisoner here like herself, sat down on the ground beside her as he looked around.

"I think it was someone's house once," he said. "But now someone is using it as a prison cell. I don't think these people are Cylons or work for them. Any idea who might want to take you prisoner?"

"Heph…The Hephaistons."

"Hephaistons!" repeated the man whose eyebrows had lowered quizzically. "Who are they exactly and what do they want with us?"

"Your obviously not from Gemenon are you?" said Charlotte.

"No," replied the man. "I'm Caprican. Now, tell me who these Hephaistons are and what they want with you?"

"They're devotees of the God Haiphaestus, the son of Zeus and Hera. We've been fighting with them for centuries. There had been a ceasefire in place for a few years but when the Cylons attacked the colonies the fighting amongst those of us who had escaped the bombing began again. They raid us for supplies and we raid them."

"Great," sighed the man sarcastically.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Me?" She watched him for a moment as he was clearly in deep thought about something before he finally answered, "My name's Xavier." She didn't know how exactly but she knew he was lying to her. She decided not to push for an answer but instead she would tread carefully. Despite his apparent friendly nature she still didn't know who he was or even if he was a threat to her. She was injured and trapped with him inside this room and so it would be unwise to make an enemy of him.

"How did you get here?" she asked him.

"I wish I could explain it to you, I really do. Truth is I don't know myself. I don't even know how I got on Gemenon but my intuition is telling me that we need to get out of here before they decide what they want to do with us."

Charlotte felt a sense of relief that his thoughts of escape included her.

"How are we going to do that?"

"When I figure it out I'll let you know. The best thing you can do now is get some rest. You're not exactly in any condition to help me dig an escape tunnel."

Charlotte didn't know if he was joking or not about the tunnel. He seemed to have a very dry sense of humour. Nevertheless she did as he instructed. She relaxed her body and soon she was falling back to sleep unsure if it was all some weird dream she was having. Part of her hoped it was. She would only find out when she woke up again.

* * *

><p><strong>Faststar Eurylade<br>Docked with Battlestar Hermes**

Galit Malka sat at the desk in her quarters. In front of her was a piece of paper which she was very casually writing a set of instructions upon. It had only been two days since Artimus Bowman and Keene Barron had been killed onboard the Ministry of Intelligence's mobile fortress designated SS-217 that like Hermes was hidden inside the red dust cloud and yet it seemed like she had spent a lifetime without them already. The loneliness was overwhelming. She hadn't felt this kind of emptiness since her days at the orphanage.

It was not long before the person the instructions were intended for was knocking on the door to her quarters. She called out for him to enter and the door opened to reveal Lieutenant Chad Teuton, the Eurylade's communication's officer and the longest serving member of her team after Barron.

"You wanted to see me, Major?" said Teuton standing in the doorway with his one-piece grey coverall wrapped around his waist to reveal a white, sweat stained t-shirt.

"Yes, Lieutenant," said Malka whose eyes didn't look up from the paper as she wrote the last few lines. "Come in wont you? Close the door behind you." Teuton did as he was told and now stood a few feet closer to his commanding officer within the field branch of the Ministry of Intelligence, itself an unofficial military. "How goes the unloading of the supplies we recovered for the Hermes?"

"They're going well, Major. It seems that while Colonel Dytto will be glad to see the back of us he is more than willing to accept the armaments we recovered."

Malka finally looked up at him having finished writing down what she had to. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms making Teuton feel somewhat intimidated by her.

"How are the crew handling everything?"

"Ok, I suppose," replied Teuton unsure as to how to respond exactly.

"Do any of them disagree about me giving Hermes the armaments even though we're clearly not wanted by Dytto?"

"If they do then they're keeping it to themselves. They trust you, Major. They'll follow your orders regardless."

"That's all I ask is everyone's obedience, Mr Teuton. Including from my new XO."

"Ma'am?" asked Teuton looking for clarification that she meant him.

"In the light of recent events I've let day-to-day things slip by me."

"It's understandable, Major," said Teuton who knew how close she was to both Barron and Bowman.

"Understandable but not acceptable Mr. Teuton. I have decided to promote you to Captain. You are to replace Captain Barron. His duties and privileges now fall upon you."

"I understand, Major. I won't let you down. You can count on me."

"I know I can, Captain Teuton. Now, for your first assignment as my new XO I want you to go to the Hermes brig. They're holding a woman there by the name of Maria Tyler."

"If I may ask, Major, who is she?"

"She's a civilian from inside 'The Slum'. One of Hermes' Marines tried to rape her in a toilet. She struggled and in the fight she stabbed him in the neck with a broken piece of mirror glass. One of the last things I agreed with Bowman was that I would take her into my custody."

"Will she be coming with us?"

"Not exactly," said Malka hinting that she had more to say. "I wont be leaving with you when the Eurylade departs. You will be in command until I contact you to return. Your orders are to jump away giving the impression we are indeed leaving. You will wait for my signal before returning is that clear?"

"Yes Major, but what will you be doing on Hermes? Colonel Dytto has made it clear that he doesn't want any of us on his ship."

"He won't know I'm there. I'm going to infiltrate the civilian population in 'The Slum' and to do that effectively I need Miss Tyler to help me. She knows that place better than anyone else we can get our hands on and I think I can get her to trust me. She has a little brother in there who she cares about more than anything. In exchange for her cooperation we're going to smuggle him out of that hell-hole and onto Eurylade where he will be safe from the vultures that are lurking in that pit."

"Yes, Major, but how are we going to get him onboard?"

"Snacks, Captain Teuton. A bar of chocolate is worth more to people today than a hundred cubits. In exchange for one or too _sweeties_, perhaps a bottle of Ambrosia, I want you to get one of the civvies working on converting Hermes port side Hangar Deck into living accomodation to get people out of 'The Slum'. There are a lot of people moving between the two places while they carry out the work so it should be easy to sneak out a little kid."

"Understood."

"One more thing; I'm going to need some ID made up for me and Miss Tyler to help us infiltrate the civilian population. Fake passports, driver's licenses, that sort of thing. I'm also going to have do something about changing our appearance somewhat."

Malka paused for a moment in thought about her last point. An idea came to her and she quickly opened and reached inside one of the drawers of her desk to produce a pair of scissors. She reached around the back of head and took hold of her long blonde hair just above the neck. With the scissors in her right hand she then began to cut away the long strands of hair that hung almsot eight inches below her neckline. She made quick work of the hair and when she was done she looked at her image in a small hand held mirror.

"Well," she said looking at the new reflection. "It's a start. Perhaps it's time my hair was black. A tattoo might go a long way as well. I hope Miss Tyler isn't too fond of her fresh looks. Very well, Captain, you have your orders."

Teuton acknoweldged that he understood them and promptly left leaving her alone once more. She leaned over in her chair and proceeded to pick up the strands of hair she had cut off. As she felt the softness of the hair on her fingertips she looked down at them which now appeared to weave in and out of her fingertips. Strangely, her imagination began to take over as she saw in her mind's eye a man running his fingers through her hair. She imagined she could feel the gentle tugging that came from his touch as his hand caught hold of chunks of hair tilting her head backwards. She had never been one for daydreaming and yet she embraced this momentary lapse wholeheartedly. It was so vivd to her that it could have been real.

"Artimus!" she whispered softly as her eyes closed and she could feel the pressure of Artimus Bowman's lips against hers.

As soon as it had began it was over. She found herself still sitting in the chair alone in her quarters aboard the Eurylade. The sensation was gone leaving her feeling confused and disoriented; maybe even a little foolish. This was not like her. She had never been one to indulge in such fantasies not even as a child. She had always been grounded in reality.

Perhaps the loss of Bowman was affecting her more than even she would care to admit to herself.

* * *

><p><strong>Cylon Occupied Gemenon<strong>

Charlotte awoke on the floor of the cell in which she was a prisoner to a rather odd sound. She looked over in its direction and found her fellow prisoner asleep on the small bundle of blankets that was a make shift bed. He was stirring as though he were having a nightmare perhaps reliving some awful experience he'd had before their paths crossed.

"Xavier!" she called out to him before noticing that he had wrapped her up in one of the blankets to keep her warm before he too went to sleep. "Xavier!" she repeated a little louder this time. Suddenly his eyelids burst open as though he had been yanked back into his body. He quickly sat up with an almost dazed expression on his face. "Are you ok?"

"Uh...Yes," he replied groggily rubbing his eyes. "Just a...uh, dream."

"L-Looked more like a nightmare," she stammered as she winced in pain from trying to sit upright. It was a slow process but she achieved it on her own.

"It seems all I ever have anymore are nightmares," said Xavier solemnly. "Ever since the Cylons...did this. How long has it been now?"

"Its been thirty four days I think, I'm not sure."

"That doesn't sound right," he uttered.

"Sorry. That would be the Gemonese calender. If you were using the standard Colonial twenty-four hour day calender then I guess it would be about forty seven days."

"Forty seven days huh?" Xavier's head bowed low. "It feels like forty seven years."


End file.
